


The Angel I Love From Afar

by PhoenixInTheShadows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Poetry, Fluff, Ineffable But So Blind To Emotions, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Pining, Repressed Emotions, Slow Burn, magical books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixInTheShadows/pseuds/PhoenixInTheShadows
Summary: A book appears in Aziraphale's shop after the Notpocalypse. And while a book in a bookstore is not something that would normally be seen as unusual, there is something about this one that just keeps bringing the angel back.
Relationships: Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1: The Book

Aziraphale wandered around the bookstore amazed that even after the Notpocalypse, being burned down and rebuilt by Adam, it still somehow felt like the store he opened all those years ago. The shelves of books carefully organised, original copies and tomes long thought lost by the rest of the world all side by side with newer texts, all original prints. All of them basking in their places, loved by the doting angel. The brisk wind outside swirls leaves and a lone lost newspaper page past the window. The sight brings an involuntary shiver and he wraps a warm blanket around his shoulders, snuggling into the softness as it envelopes his figure.

_A warm drink and a book. That’s what is perfect for today. Now where did my cocoa go to?_

With the prospect of warmth found in a book and a well-made cup of hot cocoa, Aziraphale moves to the back room to find the kettle, which had been replaced with a new electric model.

Something caught his eyes as Aziraphale sat down in his reading chair, placing the now steaming cup of hot cocoa on the side table next to his last slice of pumpkin pie. While the lovely sight of a perfect night in was enough to have his mind wandering into hopeful fantasy, one small thing drew him out.

It was a book.

Not that that in its self is anything unusual given that it was a bookstore and most of the items within were in fact books. The dark leather binding was also so similar to the older volumes that there shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary with it. But still, something was different. Perhaps it was the lack of title, or the crimson red ribbon page marker, but something, something about this book drew Aziraphale to it like a magnet.

The hot cocoa now forgotten and his first edition of Chaucer’s works with the unedited version of _The Canterbury Tales_ resting closed Aziraphale picked up the book. Slowly, almost reverently and turned back the black leather-bound cover looking for any hint to the author’s name or a title. Instead, there on the first page was a hand penned poem. No date, or any indication as to the author. Just an elegant curling script:

The first day I laid eyes on you

I knew my heart was gone

Mirth and love lay all about

Whenever you came round

The rain that first upon us fell

Brought with it your first frown

Even in the thoughtful state

I never had my doubts.

But there was no hope, for us, as I was doomed

And with that fall, my love was silenced.

For I can no longer keep you from their grasp,

And slowly you are being broken.

I see you still

From my dark corner

The light you carried, though dim, is still within

Might I hope to be the needed spark?

I should never have allowed myself to have fallen.

For I may have lost it all

I’m so sorry, my heart, my love,

My -----

The page ended abruptly. A blotch of smudged ink blurring out the last line of the writing. And the author not signing off but seeming to have just left, without leaving any trace of who they were.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and quickly thumbed through the other pages as carefully as he could. Most of them were filled with the same curling script. Others were blacked out. Ink crossing through the pages erasing any trace of what was written before.

_Perhaps something they wanted forgotten? But such a shame to erase a memory. One can always learn from another’s musings, even the worst writing has meaning to someone._

There were plenty of blank pages at the back of the book, only about a quarter of it remained untouched by the curling ink, and they seemed to almost be waiting for the return of the writer. As if, the author is bound to come back and pick up exactly where they had left off. Such a strange thing, a book waiting for the author to fill its pages, but that is what it felt like to the curious angel.

The sound of the telephone jolts him from his musings and Aziraphale moves to pick it up before his answering machine.

“Hello? You have reached A. Z. Fell and Co -.”

“Hullo Angel, is that really how you answer the phone here? Sounds like a bloody answering machine.”

“Oh Crowley! So good to hear your voice.”

“Come now Angel, enough with the pleasantries. You’ll give me a cavity. Now listen here, Newt and Anathema want us to visit this Saturday and since I have my car, and you probably still don’t drive, figured I’d check to see if you want a lift.”

“That sounds absolutely lovely. A drive into the country with you, we haven’t been that way since –”

“Yes, yes, since the world nearly ended I know. Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, yes, alright. Bye Crowley, see you then.”

“Bye Angel.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday has come and something is off with Crowley. Aziraphael reads another page from the mysterious book.

Saturday came and went in a flash, much to Aziraphale’s dismay. But he was happy to be back in his bookshop, although much more perplexed about everything than when he first found the mysterious book.

Crowley had been distant. Not nearly as sarcastic as he normally was and all over very, well, Un-Crowley. His black Bently had been put to rights by Adam and looked ever as beautiful and loved as it had before being melted into a frame by the inferno that once surrounded London. Although now the tapes played the music they were labeled as and Queen remained on his own cassette. That in its self was so very un-Crowley that when Aziraphale first heard the opening riffs and Crowley humming along to David Bowie’s ‘All the Young Dudes’ he had to pinch himself to make sure that he was still in his corporeal form and that all that had happened was not part of some elaborate dream.

All of it very, very strange indeed.

A bit into lunch however, Aziraphale surmised that perhaps it was just Crowley slowly remaking Crowley since now he didn’t have to be worried about the forces Downstairs expecting him to do anything. As the day progressed however he noticed Crowley become progressively more agitated and far less his normal confident self. Of course, Aziraphale just assumed it was from the shock of being asked to be part of the ‘best man team’ as Newton so joyfully put it. He and Anathema were planning their wedding to take place in a few short months and they were still bringing together a list of wedding guests.

So, as it happened that sunny Saturday afternoon, Newton gleefully inquired about the possibility of Aziraphale being Best Man #1 and, cautiously offered Crowley Best Man #2. Since of course they both were equally important in how he and Anathema met and choosing between the two would be very difficult indeed. They both agreed, Aziraphale happy as ever to be able to help plan such a wonderful event. Crowley, Crowley was hesitant but agreed since he planned to make it ‘one Hell of a time’.

The rest of the lunch was spent congratulating the couple on their pending nuptials and enjoying some rather delicious homemade egg salad sandwiches and fresh lemonade that, according to Aziraphale, was to die for.

On the ride home Crowley was once again humming along to a non-Queen album and remaining otherwise very quiet. Any of Aziraphale’s questions were answered with short sentences or, more often than not, single words and grunts. It seemed that, although in the car physically, Crowley was very, very far away and no matter how hard he tried, Aziraphale could not seem to bring him back.

Now settling down with a warm cup of peppermint tea and a wonderful homemade butter and cheese biscuit that Anathema had sent him home with, Aziraphale once again picked up that mysterious black leather book. The red ribbon rests still nestled in between the pages of the front cover and the first entry. Curling letters snaking in black ink and the emotions carried through them still dancing on the yellowed paper. Sinking further into the chair and nestling underneath the warm blanket once again, Aziraphale turns the page.

Can I not live without the agony of loneliness?

Being without you or your warmth –

I remain ever the loyal watcher,

Never showing but always in the shadows

Keeping the darkness at bay.

For if it should ever reach you

My heart could not bear the harm it would do

You my darling love

You alone keep me going through the deepest night

Though we have not talked in some time,

You are the first thought on my mind in the morning

The last thought before I sleep at night

And the one who inhabits every dream

Though I may not hold you now

I hope that soon,

Soon you may rest in my arms.

The poem ends abruptly once again, no date or title. Just the words and feelings that the author spilled onto the page. Aziraphale held his breath and stilled his mind. Thoughts racing through of just who was writing this and what they were feeling.

_What could bring someone to be so in love, but unable to speak about it?_

“Oh who am I kidding?” He replies to himself out loud without noticing and sinks deeper into the chair curling himself around the book and closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would keep Aziraphael from reading? Our loving fallen angel of course. Cute stuff ensues when they are together.

“Angel? Is there something wrong with your neck?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been rubbing your neck every second since I walked in the door.”

“Oh. It’s nothing Crowley. I fell asleep last night while reading and ended up curled in a rather unhelpful position. It seems I am paying the price for a lovely read, and forgetting to return to my room.”

“One bad night has you so hurt?”

Aziraphael blushed and stares at the floor preparing for the lecture about to come. “Well now, it may be closer to a week of nights. Although it may even be longer, I really haven’t been paying attention to the days.”

Crowley froze mid stride to the fireplace and turned towards the nervous angel. His earlier Un-Crowleyness having faded during the week now replaced with his usual confidence. Now he used that regained energy to capture Aziraphael and hold him in place. His motion completely snake like as his upper body twisted while his feet remained frozen, neck twisting the remaining bit until he was staring face forwards at Aziraphael. Behind his black shades, Crowley’s eyes glowed yellow and narrowed.

“Angel, I really hope I heard you wrong.”

“Well, you see – ”

“No. I know how much you love your books, but you need to take care of yourself. Do I need to lock you out of here until you are able to do that?”

“Oh Crowley, that’s really not necessary. It’s just that this has been such a captivating read and I really don’t want to put it down until I finish.”

“Angel.”

“Very well. I promise I will not fall asleep in my reading chair for the next two nights.”

“At least until your neck is better.”

“Fine.” Aziraphael sighs and begins reorganizing the shelf in front of him, for the second time that night. Crowley turns back to the fireplace as well, prodding a log within as the heat slowly relaxed him.

“You really are a good person to care so much.”

“Angel! I am not ‘good’. Stop calling me that!” Crowley hisses, not turning around.

Aziraphael scoffs softly and places the copy of _Inferno_ back onto the shelf with its sister epics.

The two fell into companionable silence and, once the sun set Aziraphael picks up his enthralling book. Turning to his reading chair he froze. Crowley was still in front of the fireplace. His head nestled on his arm and his body curled into a fetal position.

_He is such a serpent._ Aziraphael grins to himself and walks into the bedroom. He rests the book on the end table and moves to the oak closet on the other wall. Pulling out a pillow and blanket he returns to the bookshop. Crowley remains curled on the floor, softly hissing in his sleep.

“Crowley.” He whispered. “Crowley you need to get up.”

Crowley’s eyes crack open by mere millimeters, only the soft line of yellow under his lashes showed any sign of him waking.

“Hello Crowley dear. Do you want to move to the couch? It’s not very comfortable here on the floor.”

Crowley looks at the couch and his eyebrows crease. Then they move to Aziraphael’s eyes and he slides forwards half rolling half squirming inches towards the kneeling angel. His body shimmers softly and his serpent form slithers into the arms of Aziraphael.

_Well, this is – unfortunate? No, that’s not the word._ Aziraphael softly smiled and croons towards the sleeping serpent. _Adorable!_ He concludes and stands, bringing the softly hissing Crowley with him.

Once in his room, Aziraphael moved the black leather book into the nightstand drawer and lay on top of the blankets. Crowley curled onto his chest still in full sleep and with a soft sigh, Aziraphael drifted into slumber as well, dreaming of fire red hair and soft kisses.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again Crowley is becoming distant and Aziraphael returns to his reading.  
> The mysterious author is crying through the pages

Crowley was avoiding him and it made Aziraphael worried. Ever since he had fallen asleep in the bookshop and spent the night curled in snake form on top of Aziraphael, Crowley made every effort to avoid going back into the store or being alone with the saddening angel. Not even the temptation of a live show by a favourite band could bring Crowley back to the way he was. Not to mention an angel resorting to temptation is truly an extreme measure. When that did nothing Aziraphael did the only thing he could think of.

He locked himself inside his bookshop and read away his sadness. Unfortunately, almost every book that his hand happened to land on was in some way a reminder of the red-headed demon.

_Shakespeare? No, not right now. Legends of the Dark Knight? Oh, really, no thank you. . . . I give up._

Not finding any book on the vast lines of shelves Airaphael drops into his chair, resting his head on folded arms, and sinking into the softness of his chair he settles down to begin reading the next page. The author had written with such heart that, even though his own was aching, he could not put off reading the next piece.

Ah, my darling

But your sweet face

Could I see it once again it may be the light I need to bring me from my sorrow

Could you not cast your gaze my way and bring back the happiness that I so long to wish to bask within once again. 

Can you, my soft lovely, return to my heart the warmth that you once shared with me?

The sun that you carried with you always as you saved me from my own darkness

I try to remember its light, to call forth the memory and even though it be muted by time I try feel some of the warmth of that glow once again

But no, no, I am to toil and wait until such a time that you accidentally stumble into my arms. There is no hope for my soul when it longs always for your presence.

Can you not feel me calling for you and longing for your touch?

My darling you carry with you, unknowingly, my heart. Held in a locked, hidden cage which you cannot see.

My heart is lost now, a void lies in my chest and eats away the empty of my being. That warmth that once held the void at bay is no longer satisfied with imagined presence of light.

I wish that we could meet again, not by chance but on purpose.

Openly coming together and meeting under the sun together for the rest of time.

Can you dream of that day with me? Perhaps we shall meet in our dreams and bring forth our wishes into this world

I wish you would see me even in half the light I see you. But alas, you avoid me. As you should and have been rightly told to do. I will never fault you for following their words for I am no good. 

But you, you are the soul that I wish I could be. Instead of this monster that I am.

Be my light

My shinning sun

My beaming moon

My dream I always wish to be reality.

Please, one day,

Be mine

Aziraphael leaned back so the tears falling from his eyes did not smudge the ink of the book. His heart heavy with the sadness of the author and doing nothing to help his already sorrowful mood. Without trying, his mind drifted to his wayward Demon and he closed the book, walked to his room and drifted into a fitful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has been avoiding Aziraphael for a while now and Aziraphael is beginning to feel the toll. 
> 
> But will this time apart give the angel a chance to learn how he truly feels about his closest friend?

It wasn’t long before the lack of Crowley in Aziraphael’s life really started to take a toll on him. The lack of contact with others was beginning to cause him to stay inside longer and bury himself more and more into his books. The piles of new novels still in their boxes grew, and empty slots on the shelves from those that had been removed but never replaced increased.

Nobody came into the shop any more.

The sign was turned to closed with another, smaller sign saying that, due to the flu, the shop was closed for the foreseeable future. It didn’t keep people from ringing him to inquire about books and research. But the message machine now fills faster than he can erase it. There was no world ending urgency to any of the calls anyways, so who cared if he was getting them? Aziraphael didn’t want to talk to anyone in any case. So the messages were erased without being heard.

Anathema had called once. Aziraphael nearly erased her message before he heard her voice, but that was the only one he listened to fully.

“Zira? Are you there? I was hoping we could meet up for lunch some time to just catch up. It’s been quite a while. . . Zira?”

  
* Message deleted*

Aziraphael called back, just for a quick conversation. It didn’t last very long, only five minutes. They talked about how everything was going with the wedding, friends, how Adam was doing post Not-poccalypsy, (still running around with The Them) and if they had heard from anyone else in the meantime. She didn’t say anything about hearing from Crowley, and Aziraphael didn’t ask.

When they hung up, with promises of meeting in person at some point to have lunch, Aziraphael walked into his bedroom and lay down. There was no energy in him to move the books on his bed so he curled up in the small unoccupied space on top of the pillows. The blinds remained closed and he didn’t bother to try and make a meal. Food no longer made him feel the same way. The last meal he made with all his heart, he had abandoned when his first thought on tasting it was that he wanted to share it with Crowley.

The black book rests on the nightstand all on its own. Azirahphael couldn’t bring himself to cover it with any other book, and he did want to continue reading. But the words of the author just struck him every time he turned the page. His heart was terrified to see another person writing about such a familiar feeling of heartbreak. Even if he was not pinning for Crowley the same way – Of course he wasn’t, right? An angel? Sad he can’t be with a demon? Unheard of. While to be fair, they had been changing a lot of things that people thought were impossible before, even if they were small things like The Agreement. They did prevent the apocalypse earlier too. But this is something else. They were just friends, and that is how it shall stay. There was Absolutely! No! Way! that he was in love. But still the words resonated with him.

And so the book remained on the table. It’s cover calling out to him while Aziraphael struggled to ignore.

The phone rang waking Aziraphael up from a deep slumber. He pulled himself up from the bed and picked his way across the room over into the shop. Since he was awake he might as well have some tea. The message machine dial tone rang out and the voice on the other end could be heard echoing through the silent building.

“Angel? I know you’re there. Well, I think you’re there. Haven’t seen you around the city or at any of your restaurants recently. Look, I know I haven’t been really there with you. Well, I mean, it’s not like we spent every day together before anyways, but it has been longer than usual since the last time we talked or fed the ducks together. It’s just been a while, you know and well, I haven’t been myself either for the past little while. You probably noticed when we were out earlier.”

_Out earlier?_

“You know, with the witch and the witchhunter? Before the whole accidental sleepover thing, I mean that, that is something else. Well, Angel, I realize, I realize that we haven’t really spent any together and I was hoping we could maybe, if you aren’t too upset with me, have a meal together? I’ll be here if you call back. . . 

Angel? I’m sorry. . . I know that the words don’t mean as much on a message machine, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, I just, I guess I just hope you hear me.”

*End of message* -


End file.
